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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25212550">A Midsummer Night's Quarantine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinCecily/pseuds/CousinCecily'>CousinCecily</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Festivals, First Kiss, Flower Crowns, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Midsummer, Porn with Feelings, Quarantine, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Traditions, no one gets sick, yes there is a plague but it is only tangentially related to the plot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:28:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,210</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25212550</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinCecily/pseuds/CousinCecily</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier squints, thoughtful. “You didn’t really answer my question, though. I asked your favorite part of the midsummer festival.”</p><p>Geralt stills and sets down his sword. “Don’t have one.”</p><p>“Oh come on Geralt,” he needles. “We’re stuck here, indulge me.”</p><p>“I don’t <em>indulge</em> you,” Geralt grumbles.</p><p>Jaskier waves his hand. “Of course you do, but you’re dodging the question.” </p><p>A beat passes. Jaskier stills. </p><p>“Geralt,” he starts quietly, “You have been to a midsummer festival, right?”</p><p>Ah, fuck.</p><p>***</p><p>Stuck in quarantine, Jaskier learns that Geralt has never celebrated midsummer. Determined, Jaskier decides he’s going to give Geralt the best midsummer festival he can, recreating holiday traditions using only what they have in their room. But will these traditions shed light on feelings they’ve both been trying to hide?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>494</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Midsummer Night's Quarantine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've finally done it: it's my first fic! I'm so beyond excited to share this with you all.</p><p>Thank you so much to the Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang squad! It was my first time participating in one of these, and I had a fantastic time.</p><p>Adorably cute art provided by <a href="https://twitter.com/marsapplecrumb">marsapplecrumb</a>. I had so much fun collaborating with you!</p><p>A huge thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningByDegrees/pseuds/DrowningByDegrees">DrowningByDegrees</a> for being my beta and cheerleader. </p><p>And thank you so much to <a href="https://twitter.com/Timestitcher1">timestitcher</a> for cheering me on. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
	Jaskier leans back in his chair. “So uh, how long do we have to stay here?”
</p><p>
	Geralt doesn’t look up from sharpening his sword. “As long as they make us stay.”
</p><p>
	Oh, because <em>that’s</em>
	helpful, Jaskier thinks. He purses his lips. “We have told them I’m not sick, right? I know I’ve told them. Have <em>you</em>
	told them?”
</p><p>“I’ve told them.”</p><p>“Because I’m quite certain I’ve told them.”</p><p>
	Geralt grunts. The dull grind of steel on whetstone is like a metronome.
</p><p>
	Jaskier sighs and glances around their room. It’s well-appointed, one of the duke’s smaller guest suites, but no less grand. There’s a fine bed and a large fireplace. There’s even a tub in the connecting room, and plenty of wine and food. Everything Jaskier would normally cherish. “Don’t suppose we could climb out the window?”
</p><p>“You’d be dead before you hit the ground.”</p><p>
	“Right.” He frowns. There
	<em>are</em>
	quite a lot of soldiers stationed outside. Jaskier freely admits that the duke’s daughter looked a bit peaky at the banquet last week. But how was he to know she’d been showing symptoms of the plague, and that the king of Temeria had sent soldiers to lock down the estate? Worst of all, she didn’t even have it, she was allergic to the fish! It was all dreadfully inconvenient. At least the guests, all of whom are barricaded in their rooms, were supplied with enough food and drink to last the fortnight.
</p><p>
	He picks up a plum from the side table and tosses it into the air a few times. “Tempt you to a game of Gwent?”
</p><p>
	“Jaskier,” Geralt grits. “We have played forty-seven games of Gwent.”
</p><p>
	“And I’ve only won nineteen of them. If we play…” He does some quick calculations. “Ten more games, I could come out on top!”
</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Geraaaalt,” he whines.</p><p>
	“The answer is
	<em>still</em>
	no.”
</p><p>
	Jaskier deflates. A moment passes. “You could leave, you know,” he says quietly.
</p><p>
	Geralt pauses in his sharpening, a bare half second, before continuing again. “No.”
</p><p>
	Jaskier sits up and leans forward, talking quickly, “I wouldn’t even blame you, truly. Witcher immunity is common knowledge, they’d let you past the barricade.” Why is he saying this? If Geralt left he’d be
	<em>alone</em>. Alone in a big fancy house, for gods know how long, with only his songs for company. It’s too much like his childhood to bear repeating, and yet— “You could leave, go back to witchering, killing monsters and earning coin.” Guilt catches fast in his lungs. “You don’t have to stay here, Geralt.”
</p><p>
	Geralt stops sharpening. Several moments pass before he speaks, quietly, “There’s no guarantee they’ll let anyone out alive.”
</p><p>
	Jaskier freezes, but can’t help the warmth that spreads through his chest. Swallowing, he rolls the plum between his palms. “Right.” His eyes cast about the room, then land back on Geralt. Time to change the subject. Brightly, he asks, “Truth or dare?”
</p><p>Geralt snorts. “No.”</p><p>Jaskier grins. “Worth a try.”</p><p>***</p><p>The key to patience, Geralt finds, lies in routine.</p><p>
	He’s sitting in front of the fire, sharpening his swords. It’s part of his nightly ritual, along with maintaining his armor and checking his stock of potions. These routines keep him alive and, he admits, they’ve become soothing, meditative. They keep him patient. He’s good at patience.
</p><p>From the bed, Jaskier sighs a long, dramatic sigh.</p><p>Jaskier is neither good at routine, nor patience.</p><p>
	There’s been an abnormally high number of sighs from him today. He clearly doesn’t want to admit it, but the quarantine is getting to him. It’s in the tension around his eyes, the slight downturn of his lip.
</p><p>
	The first few days had gone fairly well. Once Jaskier got over his initial indignation, he touted that he was thrilled to have extended time to work on compositions, and by the end of these few weeks he would have composed “Six new ballads and at least one magnificent epic! Sure to be my finest work, Geralt, I’ll sweep the Novigrad bardic competition judges off their feet!”
</p><p>
	But now the bard is sitting on the bed, surrounded by parchment, a smear of ink on his cheek. From what Geralt can tell, he hasn’t written anything in hours. He’s even stopped pestering for stories.
</p><p>
	Geralt is almost considering suggesting another game of Gwent when Jaskier flops backwards on the bed and says, “We’re going to miss midsummer.”
</p><p>
	“You can’t
	<em>miss</em>
	midsummer,” Geralt says, an amused tilt to his lip. “It happens regardless of location.”
</p><p>
	Jaskier sighs, wistful. “Yes, I know. But tomorrow I would’ve been at a festival, full of drink and food, playing for all the beautiful townsfolk as we danced around the bonfire.”
</p><p>
	“Yes, I’m sure both your prick and your coinpurse will suffer.”
</p><p>
	“It’s not just
	<em>that</em>.”
</p><p>Geralt raises an eyebrow.</p><p>
	“We’re going to miss the celebration, the energy, the spirit of it all. The
	<em>tradition</em>.” Jaskier says. “Midsummer is about coming together.”
</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>
	“Oh, but you must like
	<em>some</em>
	part of the festival, surely. The food, the drinks, the roaring bonfire?” Jaskier rolls over to look at him. “The flower crowns?” he adds, wry.
</p><p>
	Geralt manages not to roll his eyes. He has a feeling Jaskier can tell.
</p><p>
	Jaskier continues to look at him, expectant. Geralt inwardly sighs and pauses to consider. “Midsummer makes my signs stronger, Igni in particular.”
</p><p>
	He visibly perks up. “Does it really?” He grabs at his quill and inkpot. “How much stronger? Does it feel any different? Has that ever been useful in a battle? What were you fighting?”
</p><p>
	Jaskier is already scribbling away at his parchment. Geralt lets himself roll his eyes this time, fond. He stays quiet while Jaskier writes and mutters to himself, answering his own questions. “Magic is always stronger around the solstices, and midsummer
	<em>is</em>
	connected to fire. When have we used Igni recently?” His tongue pokes out of his mouth as he thinks. “Ah! Last month — the archespore contract.”
</p><p>
	Jaskier starts humming to himself, and Geralt catches a few lyrics as he composes. He’s rewriting history again, but Geralt finds he minds less and less these days. Before Geralt can return to his swords, Jaskier looks up and catches his gaze.
</p><p>
	Jaskier squints, thoughtful. “You didn’t really answer my question, though. I asked your favorite part of the midsummer festival.”
</p><p>Geralt stills and sets down his sword. “Don’t have one.”</p><p>
	“Oh come on Geralt,” he needles. “We’re stuck here, indulge me.”
</p><p>
	“I don’t
	<em>indulge</em>
	you,” Geralt grumbles.
</p><p>
	Jaskier waves his hand. “Of course you do, but you’re dodging the question.”
</p><p>A beat passes. Jaskier stills.</p><p>
	“Geralt,” he starts quietly, “You have
	<em>been</em>
	to a midsummer festival, right?”
</p><p>Ah, fuck. Geralt sighs. Damned perceptive bards.</p><p>
	“Oh,
	<em>Geralt</em>.” Jaskier’s voice is full of hurt, and
	<em>pity</em>, and suddenly Geralt can’t take it anymore—
</p><p>“Witchers aren’t welcome at festivals, bard,” he bites out.</p><p>Jaskier lets out a breath.</p><p>
	He knew he shouldn’t have said anything. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve no interest in festivals, nor the frivolities of men.”
</p><p>
	Jaskier rolls his eyes so hard Geralt swears they make a noise. “Yes because you
	<em>always</em>
	distance yourself from ‘the frivolities of men’ and you
	<em>certainly</em>
	don’t have to deal with any of those pesky human things like ‘enjoying yourself’ or ‘needing to belong’, or, gods-forbid, ‘
	<em>feelings</em>
	’.”
</p><p>
	Geralt grits his teeth. “Drop it, bard. Why would I want to go to some gods-damned festival?”
</p><p>
	Jaskier looks back at him, eyes soft. “Because you deserve a break from the thankless work you do. You deserve joy, Geralt.”
</p><p>
	Geralt nearly flinches. Most people believe witchers don’t deserve shit.
</p><p>
	Before Geralt can respond, Jaskier shifts, brows furrowed. His eyes suddenly widen, clear and blue, and his lips part on a gasp. Oh gods, it’s Jaskier’s
	<em>idea face</em>.
</p><p>The idea face is concerning.</p><p>
	Jaskier visibly brightens. He gets up and paces around the room, opening drawers and shifting through things.
</p><p>“Jaskier.”</p><p>
	Jaskier valiantly ignores him and continues rifling through the room.
</p><p>Geralt sighs, “Jaskier.”</p><p>
	“Aha!” Jaskier dumps all the fruit from a ceramic bowl and brandishes it in the air. He continues about the room, filling the bowl with seemingly random items. Geralt spots candles, string, and— were those
	<em>pebbles</em>?
</p><p>
	Geralt rolls his eyes, tension melting into exasperated confusion. “What are you doing.”
</p><p>
	Jaskier turns around with a flourish, “<em>We</em>, my dearest and closest friend, are going to have a midsummer festival!”
</p><p>Geralt blinks. “We are trapped in a room.”</p><p>
	Jaskier continues as if he hasn’t spoken, “Prepare to experience the earthly delights of the summer solstice!” He prances away to sort through the pile of fruit he dumped earlier, picking out the strawberries. “A feast for the senses! The roar of the bonfire, the heat of the night, the decadence of the wine— Ooh!” He reaches for a bottle of Toussaint red. Laughing, he dances across the room. “Wonders that can scarcely be imagined!”
</p><p>What.</p><p>
	Jaskier circles back to the bed, depositing his finds. He continues to spout nonsense as he sorts the scattered parchment into piles, following some system Geralt can’t comprehend. About half the papers make their way into Jaskier’s notebook and into his pack, while the other half remain. He turns to regard Geralt, and suddenly he isn’t Jaskier the Bard anymore, he’s just Jaskier, with his soft smile and adoring eyes.
</p><p>Geralt feels off-balance. “What—”</p><p>
	Kneeling in front of him, Jaskier rests a hand lightly on Geralt’s arm. “Tomorrow we’re going to have a midsummer festival, just the two of us.” It’s almost a question, but his eyes are full of quiet hope.
</p><p>
	Geralt holds his breath. He doesn’t often talk but he isn’t often speechless. Does he want this? He isn’t sure, but this is the happiest Jaskier’s been in days. And perhaps… perhaps a summer festival wouldn’t be so terrible.
</p><p>“Fine,” he grits, rougher than intended.</p><p>
	“Really?” A small, hopeful smile lights up Jaskier’s face, and it’s
	<em>brilliant</em>.
</p><p>Geralt feels his expression soften. “Really.”</p><p>***</p><p>
	It’s early afternoon on midsummer day, and Jaskier is starting to suspect he might be in over his head.
</p><p>
	It certainly seemed like a good idea at the time, but throwing a midsummer festival with all the appropriate traditions in a moderately sized room with only the materials supplied therein and only a day’s notice
	<em>is</em>
	a bit of a challenge. But Jaskier
	<em>loves</em>
	a challenge. And the look on Geralt’s face when he asked — it damn near broke his heart. So. He was going to give him this. He would figure it out.
</p><p>
	Some things were easy. That morning, Jaskier threw together a traditional wine punch by filling a large pitcher with Toussaint red, then adding crushed fruit and a generous splash of cherry cordial. Geralt watched, bemused, but once Jaskier passed him a glass and he took a sip, his brows lifted and he hummed, pleased. Jaskier hid his smile in his glass.
</p><p>
	As for assembling a version of his favorite fruit tart? It went
	<em>okay</em>. He broke apart a honey cake and arranged it in a shallow bowl, then layered on more honey, cream, and strawberries. It’s… admittedly it’s not the prettiest baked good to grace the continent. But he’s certain it will taste good! And if Geralt’s got an amused slant to his eyebrows when he looks at it, well, that’s better than nothing.
</p><p>
	But flower garlands, Jaskier thinks as he sits in a pile of parchment on the bed, are perhaps a different matter. Making flowers out of paper seemed easy in his head, but now that he’s sat down to do it, he’s spent the past hour and a half cursing. All he has to show for it is one halfway-decent flower and about twelve mangled wrecks. And he’s running out of spare parchment. He might be a little grumpy. Judging by the stare he can feel emanating from Geralt’s side of the room, Geralt might have noticed.
</p><p>Maybe he’ll try making a fern flower instead.</p><p>“You know, you don’t need to be doing this,” Geralt says.</p><p>
	“Yes I know, I
	<em>know</em>,” Jaskier snips, picking up his last piece of parchment. Perhaps this one can be wrestled into a fern-shaped object.
</p><p>“We hardly need… whatever those are.”</p><p>
	“We. Certainly. Do.” He bites out each word with a crimp of the paper.  The fern itself is turning out alright, but the flower… He starts folding more aggressively. “It’s
	<em>tradition</em>.”
</p><p>“It can’t be that important,” Geralt says, flat.</p><p>
	His last fold is a little
	<em>too</em>
	aggressive. The parchment gives out with a resounding rip. He makes a big noise of exasperation and throws it behind him in a fit of pique. He looks at Geralt with stormy eyes. “No but you see it
	<em>is</em>
	important because you’ve never had a midsummer festival and I’m making you a midsummer festival and Melitele help me it’s going to be perfect!”
</p><p>
	He slumps, defeated. Weakly, he looks back up and tries for humor, “It’s this or truth or dare.”
</p><p>
	There’s a pause. Geralt’s face is pinched, like he’s swallowed something sour. He seems not entirely sure what to do.
</p><p>Slowly, Geralt speaks, “So… what are you making?”</p><p>“A fool of myself, apparently.”</p><p>“Don’t see how that’s any different from normal, then.”</p><p>Jaskier huffs and stays quiet.</p><p>
	A moment passes, then he hears Geralt move closer to the bed. Jaskier doesn’t look up. A hand moves past his field of view, picking up the one good flower. Geralt twirls it in his hand.
</p><p>“Flowers?” Geralt asks, neutral. “What are they for?”</p><p>
	Jaskier smiles, soft. “Flower garlands, actually. I’m making them out of paper since we can’t leave to get real ones. Though I clearly haven’t got very far in that regard.”
</p><p>Geralt hums.</p><p>
	Jaskier takes a deep breath and continues, “Unwed maidens wear them during the festival. At night, they gift them to their paramours. In the past it was a sort of engagement. Signified the giving of the self.” Jaskier shrugs. “It’s an antiquated tradition — nobody really
	<em>belongs</em>
	to anybody. But it is fun, and nowadays it usually winds up with the couple sharing a bed rather than a lifelong commitment.” Jaskier plucks the flower from Geralt’s hands, and doesn’t look at him. “I know it’s silly, but I’ve always found it romantic.”
</p><p>
	Geralt gestures to the fern flower that’s fallen amongst the pillows. “And that one?”
</p><p>“Ah. That’s the fern flower.”</p><p>“Ferns don’t have flowers,” Geralt counters.</p><p>
	“Yes, but that’s rather the point.” Jaskier smiles. “Legend says that if you go into the forest and find the flower of a fern, which only blooms midsummer night, you will be granted the favor of the gods.”
</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>“Don’t belittle it dear, it gives people hope.”</p><p>“I wasn’t belittling it.”</p><p>
	“Oh.” Jaskier pauses. He bites his lip and, gathering himself, twirls his hands dramatically. “Well, it’s not like there are any maidens here, so who needs flower crowns anyway?”
</p><p>Geralt is already halfway across the room. Right.</p><p>
	“Certainly not us,” Jaskier mutters. He sighs and starts collecting the ugly paper flowers into a pile to toss. Perhaps they’ll be useful as kindling, he thinks.
</p><p>
	A cloth-covered bundle unceremoniously lands in his lap. “Wha—” He looks up at Geralt. “The hell?”
</p><p>Geralt just raises an eyebrow at him, the brute.</p><p>
	“Witchers,” Jaskier mutters, untying the twine. Only to stop short because within the bundle is a small bouquet of flowers, stems wrapped gently in damp cloth. Jaskier’s breath catches. “Geralt?”
</p><p>
	Geralt’s face is forcefully casual. “White myrtle. I use the blossoms for potions. Collected those before we came here. Hadn’t had a chance to use them yet.”
</p><p>
	“I… We don’t have to use your ingredients, Geralt,” Jaskier insists.
</p><p>
	Geralt shrugs, shoulders tense. “They’re common enough. I’ll collect more when we leave.”
</p><p>Jaskier places his hand on Geralt’s arm. “Thank you.”</p><p>
	Geralt grunts and looks away. “Anything to stop you complaining.”
</p><p>
	Jaskier smiles. “Right.” He moves his hand away. “Well. Back to it, then!”
</p><p>
	Geralt returns to his seat by the fire while Jaskier weaves the white flowers into a strand. There’s just enough to make one flower crown, and once he finishes tying it off he holds it up to admire.
</p><p>He glances up at Geralt. Should he?</p><p>No, no. Certainly not.</p><p>…But what if?</p><p>Oh, fuck it.</p><p>
	Jaskier sweeps to his feet. “Oh sweet maiden!” he calls. He holds the flower crown aloft and places it atop Geralt’s head with a flourish. “Your flower crown for the festivities.”
</p><p>
	He lowers himself into a sweeping bow, peeking up at Geralt out of the corner of his eye, struggling to contain his grin.
</p><p>
	Geralt’s face may as well have been carved from stone for all that it moves. Very dryly he asks, “Sweet maiden?”
</p><p>
	Jaskier folds himself back upright, grinning. “Well there were only enough flowers for one crown, and as this is your first midsummer festival, I declare you: the midsummer virgin.”
</p><p>
	“Virgin is hardly a word that could be used to describe either of us.”
</p><p>“Be that as it may!” Jaskier says, “Someone has to wear it.”</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>And by the gods, Geralt is actually leaving it on.</p><p>
	Jaskier
	<em>knows</em>
	Geralt is just humoring him, but he can’t help the warm feeling in his heart. The flowers don’t even look out of place, set against Geralt’s white hair. Jaskier wants to reach out and touch, to run his fingers through the strands, but instead he retreats to the safety of the bed. He’s pined after Geralt for long enough now that tucking away his feelings is almost second nature. Looking for something to occupy his hands, he twirls the paper flower he made earlier. Decisively, he tucks it behind his ear and looks back at Geralt, grinning wide.
</p><p>
	Geralt just shakes his head, but the crinkles around his eyes are fond. As he takes another drink of fruit wine, the flowers catch the rays of sunlight from the window.
</p><p>
	Jaskier bites his lip and tries to ignore the butterflies in his stomach.
</p><p>***</p><p>
	So far this midsummer thing hasn’t been too bad, Geralt thinks. The fruit wine is good, and the tart, while messy, does look edible. The flower crown was a bit much, but loathe as he is to admit it, he has a hard time denying Jaskier anything.
</p><p>
	Now, though, he really doesn’t know what Jaskier is doing. He’s snatched candles from all over the room and arranged them on a plate on the floor. Around it he has placed what appear to be small rocks — where the fuck did he find those?
</p><p>
	Geralt, meanwhile, has piled their plates high with food, and even the fruit tart is on the table waiting for them. “Jaskier, come sit down and eat.”
</p><p>
	“Just a minute! I’m almost done.” Jaskier hums to himself as he lights and arranges the candle display. The paper flower from earlier is still tucked behind his ear.
</p><p>
	As ridiculous as all this is, he admits he’s touched the bard’s gone to all this effort.
</p><p>
	Jaskier finally steps back and gestures at his creation. “Behold! The midsummer bonfire!”
</p><p>
	It is about the furthest thing from a bonfire Geralt has ever seen. He says so.
</p><p>
	Jaskier’s hands fly to his hips. “We’re making do with what we’ve got, Geralt.”
</p><p>“What’s wrong with the fireplace?”</p><p>
	“You can’t
	<em>dance</em>
	around a fireplace. Obviously.”
</p><p>Geralt’s eyebrows raise. “Dance.”</p><p>
	Jaskier joins him at the table. Finally. “Now, I know we’ve been playing about with all these other things—”
</p><p>
	Geralt refrains from commenting that it’s
	<em>Jaskier</em>
	who’s been playing about.
</p><p>
	“—but the bonfire is the heart of midsummer tradition. Everything revolves around it.” Jaskier starts eating, but he spends more time gesturing with his food than eating it. “Everything we’ve done so far has been bonus stuff; the bonfire is the truly important bit. It symbolizes the sun and the turn of the year. It represents life, but it represents death too. The longer days giving way to shorter ones.” His eyes shine as he speaks, and the passion in his voice takes on a deeper tint. “Time is fleeting, and none of us have very long for this world, present witchers excluded. Midsummer is about recognizing that, and making the most of the time you have.” Jaskier looks back at the bonfire he’s made, and says, “The fire burns all night, and everyone stays up with it to greet the dawn.”
</p><p>“It… sounds like it means a lot to you,” Geralt says.</p><p>
	Jaskier looks back and smiles. “It’s my favorite holiday.” He takes a drink of punch. “Though there is
	<em>certainly</em>
	something to be said for fertility festivals, let me tell you.”
</p><p>
	Geralt shakes his head. He sits back and stares at the collection of candles. Time and mortality mean different things when you’ve lived as long as Geralt has. But he thinks he sees Jaskier’s point. After a few minutes, he says, “The only bonfires witchers light are funeral pyres for our dead.”
</p><p>Jaskier looks up, eyes wide.</p><p>
	Clearing his throat, he continues, “Vesemir says the fire purifies.” Geralt shrugs. “Life and death are part of the Path. I don’t know if fire can purify that, but it makes sense we would return there, in the end.”
</p><p>
	Jaskier swallows, and doesn’t speak for a few moments. Finally, he lifts his tankard. “To life and death.”
</p><p>Geralt nods, and lifts his own. “To life and death.”</p><p>They toast.</p><p>
	The conversation turns to quieter topics after that. They drink and eat while Jaskier chatters on about midsummer festivals, including a particularly memorable drunken summer at Oxenfurt.
</p><p>
	After they eat, Jaskier plays a few midsummer songs on his lute, some quiet, some rowdy. Geralt finds he likes the meditative ones best. Gentle musings on the circle of life, which Geralt has witnessed firsthand for so many years. At times he feels unchanging, like he’s stuck in a permanent stasis while the world turns around him. And yet, there are moments that stand out, that surprise him. Taking a long sip of punch, he watches Jaskier’s hands move across the strings.
	<em>Exceptions</em>.
</p><p>
	He shakes himself out of his musing to realize that Jaskier’s voice has long gone silent. His hands just strum quietly as he gazes into the circle of candles.
</p><p>Geralt clears his throat.</p><p>
	Jaskier looks up at him, his expression open and his eyes the clearest of blues.
</p><p>
	It’s… too much, somehow. He starts a sentence before he knows how it will end. “Jaskier…” At a loss, he finishes, “Tell me about more traditions.”
</p><p>
	“Oh,” A pleased smile crosses Jaskier’s face. “Pretty much everywhere on the continent has their own variation on tradition.”
</p><p>Geralt relaxes back into his seat as Jaskier talks on.</p><p>***</p><p>
	Geralt’s been giving him these
	<em>looks</em>
	that Jaskier doesn’t know how to parse.
</p><p>
	As much as this feels like a normal evening chatting around the campfire, there’s something different. Jaskier can’t quite put his finger on it.
</p><p>
	There’s a quiet moment, and Geralt asks, “Do you have a favorite?”
</p><p>
	“Oh,” he says, fighting the sudden and unexpected urge to blush. “Well, there’s many traditions I love, but my personal favorite is the bonfire dance circle.”
</p><p>Geralt raises an eyebrow expectantly.</p><p>
	Jaskier laughs. “I’m not showing you unless you join me in front of the bonfire.”
</p><p>
	Geralt looks like he’s going to argue, but he doesn’t, he stands instead. Huh.
</p><p>
	The circle of candles is… well it’s starting to feel a bit lackluster. Jaskier adjusts his doublet, which is hanging open and doesn’t need adjusting. He clears his throat. Right. “Fire’s a little small for this, I suppose.”
</p><p>
	Before he knows it, there’s a small gust of wind and the candles flare, burning high and bright. Jaskier looks up, surprised, to see Geralt’s hand curled into the sign for Igni. Geralt just nods, like it’s nothing. The candles continue to burn high, and honestly, it does sort of look like a bonfire now.
</p><p>
	Ignoring the way his heart has started to pound, he turns toward Geralt and dips into a bow.
</p><p>
	Geralt greets him with a raised eyebrow but bows slightly in return. “I’m not dancing with you.”
</p><p>
	“I know,” Jaskier says, smiling. “I’m still going to show you the dance. I can manage a passable demonstration on my own.”
</p><p>“Hm.” Geralt sounds skeptical.</p><p>
	“Do you hear that?” Jaskier twists around, gesturing grandly to an imaginary crowd. “Hear how he doubts my solo dancing prowess?
	<em>Me</em>? Master of the Seven Liberal Arts?”
</p><p>
	Jaskier spins back to face him, and the eye roll Geralt gives him is quite extraordinary. But there’s a clear fondness underneath his gaze.
</p><p>
	A wide grin spreads across Jaskier’s face. He wags a finger at Geralt. “For shame.”
</p><p>
	Before he can see Geralt’s reaction, Jaskier twirls to face the fire, lifting both arms to either side. Adopting his best lecturing professor impression, he continues. “Firstly, the participants bow to greet their partner. Once complete, they bow to greet the bonfire.” With this, Jaskier sweeps into an exaggerated bow. From the corner of his eye, he can see Geralt struggle with himself before he faces the fire and tilts his body in the tiniest of bows. It’s adorable. Jaskier spends quite a lot longer dipped low to hide his smile.
</p><p>
	Sweeping back upright, he schools his expression back into that of a professor and continues. “Greetings thusly made, the participants clasp hands in a circle around the fire—” Jaskier mimes clasping hands with imaginary partners to his left and right. “—And the dance begins!”
</p><p>
	With a grin, he sets off, skipping around the fire with his arms upraised. After one turn, he stops, claps, and skips off in the other direction. His eyes find Geralt, who’s watching him from a few paces away. He’s got his classic
	<em>Jaskier is being ridiculous</em>
	expression, which Jaskier secretly
	<em>loves</em>.
</p><p>
	Lightning-quick, Jaskier reaches out to grab one of Geralt’s hands and drag him along. Geralt, astonishingly enough, lets him. A delighted laugh bursts from Jaskier’s chest. Geralt is certainly walking a lot more than he’s skipping, but he’s here dancing with Jaskier all the same.
</p><p>
	There’s a familiar warmth spreading through Jaskier that he usually tries to ignore. They change directions with a stop and even a small clap from Geralt. How much is Geralt going to let him get away with?
</p><p>
	Gathering all his courage, Jaskier tugs on their clasped hands and suddenly he finds himself chest to chest with Geralt. Wide yellow eyes stare, inches from his own. Jaskier sucks in a breath. Oh gods, he’s got to get it together.
</p><p>
	Jaskier clears his throat. “Right, uh.” He adjusts his stance, leaving their hands clasped while moving his other hand to Geralt’s waist. Firm muscles flex beneath the soft material of his shirt, but after a moment Geralt settles into the pose, his hand resting on Jaskier’s shoulder.
</p><p>
	In Jaskier’s brief moment of speechlessness, Geralt says, stilted, “You know the dance. You lead.”
</p><p>
	Jaskier nods, breath coming fast in his chest. “Okay,” he whispers.
</p><p>
	Gently, he guides them forward, slowly moving through the steps so Geralt can follow. Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised, what with the grace of Geralt’s fighting, but Geralt picks it up quickly.
</p><p>
	Jaskier smiles and meets his eyes. “You’re better at this than I thought.”
</p><p>
	“Hm.” It could be a trick of the light — or the alcohol — but there’s a pink flush to Geralt’s cheeks that Jaskier’s never seen before.
</p><p>
	Now that Geralt’s picked up the steps, there’s nothing to stop them from maintaining eye contact while they dance. Jaskier feels breathless with it, moving in sync with Geralt, all tight muscles and poised grace. There’s a stirring in his belly that’s beyond his control. Inches away, Geralt’s eyes are golden in the light of the bonfire, pupils widening almost imperceptibly.
</p><p>
	Suddenly, Geralt stops, eyes unreadable, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist to pull him close.
</p><p>
	“Um,” Jaskier’s breath is coming fast in his chest. He rests his arms around Geralt’s neck as Geralt guides him into slow, rocking steps.
</p><p>
	They’re— they’re slow dancing. Jaskier can’t breathe. He tucks his head next to Geralt’s in an attempt to hide his expression, which would surely give him away if the rest of him isn’t already. He cannot allow himself to hope. He has
	<em>never</em>
	allowed himself to hope for… Gods, he can’t even bring himself to say it in his own head.
</p><p>
	Tucked as close as he is, Jaskier breathes in the smells of leather and sword oil and something distinctly
	<em>Geralt</em>. It’s so familiar that his heart aches with it. He tilts his head to press against Geralt’s, feather light. He can’t help it.
</p><p>
	There must be
	<em>some</em>
	sort of explanation for this, right? Something other than the obvious?
</p><p>
	He pulls back and desperately wills his racing heart to slow. “Well.” He meets Geralt’s eyes and laughs awkwardly, casting around for something to say. “I, uh… I hope you’ve had a good midsummer festival?”
</p><p>Geralt nods. “Best one I’ve ever had.”</p><p>
	“<em>Excuse</em>
	me,” Jaskier says, settling into mock offense because it’s comfortable and not potentially life-ruining like the fluttering feeling in his chest. “This is the
	<em>only</em>
	one you’ve ever had.”
</p><p>
	Jaskier starts to pull away to safety but Geralt’s arms tighten. “Jaskier.”
</p><p>
	He stops, tense. He’s trying his damndest to hide his feelings but he’s slipping and he knows it. He prays that Geralt lets him down easily as his gaze shifts up to meet Geralt’s.
</p><p>
	There is entirely too much sincerity in Geralt’s eyes as he rumbles, “Thank you. For this.”
</p><p>Jaskier nods, momentarily speechless.</p><p>
	Geralt pauses, eyes shifting, an internal war living in the subtleties of his expression. There's a light furrow in his brow, but when it lifts his expression smoothes and he steps back. Jaskier has barely any time to wonder what’s going on before Geralt gently removes his flower crown and places it on Jaskier’s head. Jaskier feels like he’s going into shock.
</p><p>
	“Geralt?” he squeaks, unable to stop the blush that warms its way down his chest. Geralt must’ve forgotten their conversation from earlier — that’s the only explanation. Yet Jaskier, laughing nervously and like the idiot he is, presses the issue. “What, are you saying I’m your beloved?”
</p><p>
	“Aren’t you?” Geralt’s voice is warm, amused, like he hasn’t rocked Jaskier to his core.
</p><p>
	Mouth dry, Jaskier’s lips part. And sweet Melitele, Geralt glances down at them. Jaskier strangles the noise trying to come out of his throat. This cannot possibly be happening. Geralt seems to be waiting for him. Fuck, this is happening. He can’t fuck this up.
</p><p>
	Helpless to resist, Jaskier looks down at Geralt’s lips. He whispers, a little broken, “Gods, I hope so.”
</p><p>
	Geralt smiles, eyes crinkling and so very warm. He leans in, a breath away from Jaskier’s lips. “You are.”
</p><p>
	Jaskier makes a noise — he thinks it might be some kind of whine, he’s not sure — but he’s already leaning forward to press his lips to Geralt’s.
</p><p>
	It’s a soft, delicate thing, their kiss, yet Jaskier feels consumed by it. Geralt’s lips are gentle where they press and move against his own, and it’s absolutely perfect.
</p><p>
	Jaskier parts his lips and Geralt licks against the seam of them. It sends a shiver through Jaskier, and without warning the kiss turns breathless. His tongue caresses Geralt’s and Jaskier moans, loud and needy and already desperate. His fingers grasp at Geralt’s shirt like he’ll fly away if he lets him go. Years of longing break loose from where they’ve been buried, and he pours it all into the kiss. And Geralt, Geralt is matching him. Geralt’s hands have moved up into his hair, angling his face to deepen the kiss even further. Geralt is making faint and almost helpless noises, and Jaskier keens into his mouth and kisses him harder.
</p><p>
	Jaskier pulls back, breathing heavily. He presses his forehead to Geralt’s. Their noses brush and Jaskier huffs out a disbelieving laugh. He glances up and his eyes are caught in Geralt’s own.
</p><p>
	Some sense of reality crashes back in, and a terrifying thought strikes him. A flower crown is hardly a promise, Jaskier himself said it usually resulted in just one night of passion. What if this is only for tonight? Is Geralt just doing this for the sake of— what, some misplaced sense of
	<em>tradition</em>?
</p><p>
	He can’t just stop and
	<em>ask</em>, not if this is his only chance to have Geralt. Jaskier takes a deep breath and tries to maintain his composure, but it’s cracking.
</p><p>
	Geralt inhales deeply then pulls back, eyes searching. Gods, he looks
	<em>worried</em>.
</p><p>Jaskier opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.</p><p>Geralt pauses, then his eyes widen. “Hm.”</p><p>
	Whatever last thread was holding Jaskier together snaps. “<em>Hm</em>? What does that mean,
	<em>hm</em>?” Jaskier's voice is shrill and he knows he’s panicking but he doesn’t know how to stop. “You don’t get to
	<em>hm</em>
	me now, Geralt, not after kissing me like that.”
</p><p>
	A slow smile curls across Geralt’s face. It’s one of the rare open ones that makes Jaskier’s heart melt.
</p><p>This witcher is going to be the death of him.</p><p>
	Geralt glances at the flower crown. “They’ve always been a one-night thing for you. The flower crowns.” It’s a question but it isn’t a question.
</p><p>
	Jaskier slowly nods. Fragments of his heart are breaking off. He doesn’t know how to stop that either.
</p><p>“This can be more. If you want it to be.”</p><p>Jaskier blinks and pulls back. “I’m sorry— What?”</p><p>
	Sincerity is written across Geralt’s face. Jaskier feels faint.
</p><p>“Do you mean to tell me that you’re mine?”</p><p>
	Geralt nods. “If you want me to be.” He pauses, then looks a bit… uncertain. “I don’t want to be the thing that ties you down.”
</p><p>
	Jaskier chokes out a laugh. “<em>You</em>
	don’t want to be the thing that ties me down? Darling, I’ve been trying not to tie you down for
	<em>years</em>.”
</p><p>
	Geralt makes a surprised little noise, then his lips stretch into a grin. “What if I want you to tie me down?”
</p><p>
	Jaskier sputters. “I— You— You—” He sucks in a breath. “Melitele’s
	<em>tits</em>, Geralt.” Fuck talking. Instead, Jaskier pulls him in for a bruising, biting kiss. “Yours,” he pants. “Gods, Geralt, I’m yours, I always have been.”
</p><p>
	Geralt kisses back, and he lets out a pleased rumble at Jaskier’s words. “Mine,” he agrees.
</p><p>Jaskier makes another wounded noise. “On the bed. Now.”</p><p>***</p><p>
	It takes effort for Geralt to let go long enough for them to make it to the bed. They sit on the edge, facing one another.
</p><p>
	The past few hours have been… Geralt looks at Jaskier with wide eyes. In all this time, he never let himself believe that this could happen. But it has. If he wants to caress Jaskier’s cheek, he can.
</p><p>So he does.</p><p>
	Jaskier’s hand covers Geralt’s as he turns to kiss Geralt’s palm with characteristic confidence. But the sparkle in Jaskier’s eyes doesn’t hide that they’re almost as wide as Geralt’s own.
</p><p>
	Geralt brushes a thumb along Jaskier’s cheekbone and pulls him in for a kiss. The kiss is somewhere between gentle and wanton, in a territory unfamiliar to Geralt. Before he can try and make sense of it, Jaskier deepens the kiss, nipping and tugging on Geralt’s bottom lip.
</p><p>
	
</p><p>
	Geralt strokes down Jaskier’s neck and he follows the same path with his lips, gently biting and licking as he goes. There’s a fine sheen of sweat on Jaskier’s skin that both smells and tastes of lust, and Geralt can’t get enough of it. A low growl starts building in his chest, which he tries to suppress as he sucks a mark into Jaskier’s neck.
</p><p>
	“<em>Gods</em>
	Geralt, don’t stop,” he gasps, hands pressing Geralt’s face into his skin.
</p><p>
	Geralt tugs Jaskier’s collar aside and bites at his collarbone, prompting Jaskier to scrabble at his doublet, shedding it and throwing it off the bed. His shirt follows soon after. Geralt returns to Jaskier’s collarbone while he strokes his hands up and down Jaskier’s sides, reveling in the newly exposed skin.
</p><p>The rumble in his chest keeps building.</p><p>
	Jaskier finally seems to notice and he
	<em>moans</em>. “Are you
	<em>growling</em>? Fuck Geralt, I didn’t know you could do that.” His hips thrust up, though there’s nothing for them to thrust against. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever
	<em>heard</em>.”
</p><p>
	That’s… not the reaction he was expecting. Geralt feels warm. He’s not sure why.
</p><p>
	Jaskier drags him back up, tongue thrusting into Geralt’s mouth and he forgets to think about it. Hands tug at Geralt’s shirt. “Off off
	<em>off</em>. I want to see you.”
</p><p>“You see me naked all the time.” Geralt removes his shirt.</p><p>
	Jaskier’s hands caress Geralt’s torso as he looks at him, revenant. “Yes but not like
	<em>this</em>. Not when I can
	<em>touch</em>.”
</p><p>Geralt understands how he feels.</p><p>
	Without warning, lithe fingers pinch at his nipples. Geralt sucks in a breath as pleasure arcs through him. “<em>Jaskier</em>.”
</p><p>
	“That’s a good reaction,” Jaskier grins, continuing to rub and tug until they pebble underneath his fingers. Leaning in, he sucks one into his mouth, laving it with his tongue.
</p><p>
	<em>Fuck</em>, have his nipples always been this sensitive?
</p><p>
	Geralt’s hands find themselves in Jaskier’s hair again, absently trying to avoid the flower crown as he wavers between pulling him close and tugging him away. Even with his mouth full, Jaskier is nothing but noise, moaning as he works.
</p><p>
	Desire winning out, Geralt tugs him back up. He presses a deep kiss to Jaskier’s lips, fingers tugging through the chest hair Jaskier’s teased him with for years, before he drops to his knees. Looking up at Jaskier through his lashes, Geralt kisses along the planes of his stomach.
</p><p>
	Jaskier’s pupils blow wide as the scent of his arousal spikes. “Oh
	<em>fuck</em>
	yes.”
</p><p>
	A grin teases Geralt’s lips. While Geralt would never allow himself to think of this he admits he’s… thought of this. His fingers work the bard’s trousers open as he presses kisses along the trail of hair leading down his belly. Jaskier’s cock is hot and hard and leaking as Geralt pulls it out of its confines, and Geralt is
	<em>entranced</em>, and immediately presses his tongue to the bead of precome at the tip.
</p><p>
	Jaskier makes a pained sort of moan and tangles his hands deep in Geralt’s hair, leather hair tie coming undone in the process. The feeling sets Geralt alight and he sucks down Jaskier’s cock.
</p><p>
	“Shit. Fuck.
	<em>Geralt</em>,” Jaskier cries from above him, hands tightening in Geralt’s hair.
</p><p>
	Fuck, but Jaskier’s cock feels perfect against his tongue. Geralt hasn’t done this in a long time but he remembers the way of it. He swirls his tongue around the head, sucking on it and teasing the sensitive underside, letting Jaskier’s moans guide him. Licking up the shaft, Geralt tugs gently at his balls which makes Jaskier scramble to push his trousers off. Once out of the way, Geralt leans in and sucks him down to the root, closing his eyes as he’s surrounded by scent and sound and taste.
</p><p>
	Jaskier’s hands tighten and pull in his hair again and Geralt
	<em>moans</em>.
</p><p>
	Absently, Geralt feels Jaskier’s hands flex. He doesn’t think anything of it, too focused on his task, but Jaskier gently pulls him off his cock. Geralt lets himself be maneuvered.
</p><p>
	Jaskier’s hands continue to guide Geralt by his hair as he whispers, breathless, “Is this okay?”
</p><p>Geralt nods. “I can take it.”</p><p>
	As Jaskier visibly thrills, Geralt grins and mouths at his balls, teasing.
</p><p>
	The hands in his hair tighten as Jaskier guides his cock back into Geralt’s mouth. There’s gentle pressure until Geralt is pressed all the way down, his nose brushing the hairs at the base of Jaskier’s cock as Geralt relaxes his throat.
</p><p>Shaky, Jaskier asks, “Can I?”</p><p>
	Geralt nods as best he can with a cock down his throat and gives an affirmative hum that makes Jaskier shiver.
</p><p>
	Slowly, gently, Jaskier fucks himself into Geralt’s mouth. Geralt’s eyes close and he can feel the drool start to drip down his chin.
</p><p>He pulls off to rasp, “You can go faster.”</p><p>
	“Fuck, okay. Stop me if you need to.” Jaskier’s thumbs stroke along Geralt’s temples. Geralt’s not sure he realizes he’s doing it, but it’s nice.
</p><p>
	Geralt locks eyes with Jaskier and nods. Jaskier takes a deep breath and murmurs, “You have no idea how good you look like this,” before guiding Geralt back onto his cock.
</p><p>
	It’s not a thought Geralt can process before Jaskier is fucking harder into his mouth, and then all he can think about is relaxing his throat, and the taste, and the
	<em>feel</em>. Distantly, he can hear Jaskier moaning, and he thinks he might be saying words, but they seem far away and unimportant. Geralt focuses on sucking and swirling his tongue when he can, and keeping his throat loose when Jaskier goes faster.
</p><p>
	Without warning, Jaskier pulls off and grips the base of his cock, hard. “—ck fuck fuck
	<em>fuck</em>,” his voice trickles back into Geralt’s awareness.
</p><p>
	Taking a few deep breaths, Jaskier looks down at Geralt with a kind of wonder, “Darling you are so
	<em>good</em>
	at that. I nearly came.”
</p><p>
	“I’m fine swallowing.” It’s an understatement. The thought of it
	<em>burns</em>
	him.
</p><p>
	Lute calloused fingertips stroke the skin of his cheeks, wiping away tears from the vigorous way Jaskier used his throat. “No, I… I don’t want to come because—” There’s a slight tinge of nervousness to his scent as Jaskier says, “—I was hoping I could fuck you?”
</p><p>
	Geralt’s eyes blow wide. He assumed he would be doing the fucking tonight. It’s what his lovers usually expect, and he enjoys it, he does, but that Jaskier would want this first is… surprising. It’s good. Geralt nods, voice rougher than usual as he says yes.
</p><p>
	At that, Jaskier practically
	<em>drags</em>
	him upright and pushes him toward the center of the bed. “Trousers. Off. I’ll get some oil.” Jaskier says, turning to their packs. He pauses a moment, and turns back to Geralt. “Chamomile?”
</p><p>
	Geralt nods. It’s one of the only scents that doesn’t overwhelm him.
</p><p>
	On the bed, he removes his trousers and leans back against the pillows. The bonfire is still burning high from his Igni earlier, and the candles have burnt down to almost half their size. With another twist of his hand, he quiets the flames to a normal level.
</p><p>
	Jaskier returns to the bed, oil in tow. “Good call.” He smiles, “We need that bonfire to last til morning, after all.”
</p><p>
	Geralt huffs, “I was more concerned with not burning down the estate.”
</p><p>
	“That too.” Jaskier crawls over Geralt, eyes twinkling. His eyes dart down to Geralt’s cock, full and leaking. “Gods, I always wondered if it was as big as it seemed. I am
	<em>so</em>
	glad I was right.”
</p><p>
	Geralt rolls his eyes and tugs Jaskier down to him, shutting him up with a kiss.
</p><p>
	Jaskier hums happily into his mouth, and as Jaskier presses closer, their cocks brush together and they moan, and— and Geralt feels something poking into his back. Irritated, he reaches into the pillows.
</p><p>
	Jaskier sits back, confused, as Geralt pulls out the fern flower from earlier. Jaskier’s jaw drops.
</p><p>
	Geralt holds it up to him. “Found it,” he says, humor crackling underneath his tone.
</p><p>
	Jaskier laughs in disbelief and turns to Geralt. “Well my dear, what are you going to do with the favor of the gods?”
</p><p>Geralt raises an eyebrow. “Get fucked, I hope.”</p><p>
	Both of them dissolve into a fit of giggles. Geralt’s not sure he’s ever
	<em>giggled</em>
	before, but, like most things with Jaskier, it’s nice.
</p><p>
	Reaching out, Jaskier takes the parchment fern flower and gives it a long look, eyes distant. Geralt pauses, watching. This night does feel like a blessing, if he’s honest.
</p><p>
	Jaskier turns back to look at him and softens, like he can see Geralt’s thoughts written across his face. It earns him one of Jaskier’s brilliant smiles.
</p><p>
	Warmth spills across Geralt’s chest, and so he reaches for Jaskier’s hand and pulls him close, into the cradle of his thighs. They lean on each other, breathing in each other’s space.
</p><p>***</p><p>
	For several long moments, Jaskier does nothing but breathe in Geralt’s scent. Turning, he whispers against Geralt’s skin, “How do you want me?” Jaskier sucks and bites kisses along his jaw, while his hand creeps down to Geralt’s cock. It’s softened some after the fern flower discovery, but as Jaskier wraps his hand around it and gives it one long stroke from root to tip, it plumps. Geralt gasps against his neck.
</p><p>
	Sitting back, Jaskier watches Geralt’s cock as it slides through the circle of his fist. “Gods, I can’t wait to get this inside me.” His eyes turn back to Geralt’s. “Can I ride you later?”
</p><p>
	Geralt makes a strangled noise. “Fuck.
	<em>Yes</em>, Jaskier.”
</p><p>
	The image of bouncing above Geralt — filled with his cock while sweat drips down his chest, large hands wrapped around his hips — is overwhelming, and by the strained look on Geralt’s face, he feels it too.
</p><p>
	Jaskier presses closer, licking a long stripe up Geralt’s neck. His hand dips low, tugging at Geralt’s balls and brushing against his perineum before circling his hole. Sucking in a breath, Geralt shivers.
</p><p>“Like this?” Jaskier asks.</p><p>
	Geralt nods, gripping his shoulders like they’re a lifeline. Smiling, Jaskier moves down, biting gently on a nipple as he presses his thumb to Geralt’s rim. The tendons in Geralt’s neck strain as he throws his head back.
</p><p>
	“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” Jaskier sits up to pour some oil on his fingers, and Geralt meets his eyes. Fuck, he already looks overwhelmed and Jaskier’s not even
	<em>in him</em>
	yet.
</p><p>
	Eyes catching on Jaskiers’ fingers, Geralt spreads his legs and plants his feet on the bed. Jaskier moans as he draws close and teases his oiled fingers along Geralt’s rim, watching as it clenches. “Gorgeous.” Leaning forward, he licks and sucks at Geralt’s cock. Geralt jerks, but stops himself from thrusting into Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier smiles and gently pushes the tip of one finger in as a reward. As Geralt moans, Jaskier asks, “When was the last time you bottomed, darling?”
</p><p>
	Geralt gasps as Jaskier’s finger works in further. “Been a while.”
</p><p>
	“Mm,” Jaskier says, watching his finger press in and out. Geralt is so tight and warm, he’s going to feel
	<em>incredible</em>
	on his cock. “Don’t worry, I’ll do plenty of prep.”
</p><p>“Wasn’t worried.”</p><p>
	Geralt’s voice is rough, and Jaskier grins. “Are you saying you thought I’d be good at this?”
</p><p>
	Two fingers are rocking in and out of Geralt’s hole now, but he still manages a sly, “With all the people you’ve bedded, I should
	<em>hope</em>
	you’re good at this.”
</p><p>
	Jaskier laughs, delighted. “Being a slut does have its advantages,” he trills.
</p><p>
	Geralt’s answering laugh turns into a groan as Jaskier takes the opportunity to crook his fingers
	<em>just</em>
	so. “<em>Fuck</em>, Jask—”
</p><p>
	Gods, Jaskier wants to take him apart. He sucks a mark into Geralt’s thigh as he twists his fingers, working deeper, brushing his prostate with every other thrust. Precome leaks from Geralt’s cock as he groans for more.
</p><p>
	“You’re doing beautifully, darling,” Jaskier praises. “You take my fingers so well.” Geralt
	<em>keens</em>
	and presses down against them.
</p><p>
	Eyes sparking, Jaskier gives him another finger and starts fucking him a little faster. Sweat beads across Geralt’s brow, his fists grip the sheets and Jaskier can tell he’s trying not to writhe and he’s so fucking
	<em>good</em>. Jaskier laps at the precome on his dick before swallowing it down. A hand lands in Jaskier’s hair, and he’s faintly aware of his flower crown but it doesn’t matter because when Geralt looks down and locks eyes with him, Jaskier hollows his cheeks and
	<em>sucks</em>, pressing against the bundle of nerves at the same time and Geralt
	<em>loses it</em>, moaning loud into the room and coming down Jaskier’s throat without warning.
</p><p>
	Jaskier sucks it down, greedy for it, still fingering him as Geralt works through his orgasm. As it subsides, Jaskier gently removes his fingers as his mouth pulls off his dick with a pop. Fuck, that was
	<em>fantastic</em>. He’s never seen someone come apart so beautifully as Geralt.
</p><p>
	Geralt is laying back against the pillows, hands tangled in his own hair, breathing heavily. “<em>Jask.</em>
	”
</p><p>
	Smiling, Jaskier moves up his body, kissing as he goes. When he reaches Geralt’s lips, they exchange several slow, long kisses. Jaskier knows he still tastes of Geralt’s spend, and by the gods, Geralt seems to love it, licking deep into his mouth.
</p><p>
	Geralt’s muscles tighten as he pulls Jaskier down, writhing their bodies together. “Fuck me.
	<em>Please</em>,” he begs. He looks half mad with it.
</p><p>
	<em>Fuck</em>. There's a witcher beneath him, begging to be fucked, and Jaskier might die from the sight alone.
</p><p>
	“Don’t die,” Geralt pants between breaths. “Fuck me instead.”
</p><p>Well. He didn’t realize he said that aloud.</p><p>***</p><p>
	Geralt growls as Jaskier continues to dither. Frustrated, he wraps his legs around Jaskier’s hips and
	<em>pulls</em>, brushing Jaskier’s cock against his hole.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
	“<em>Fuck</em>. Let me get the oil,” Jaskier pants.
</p><p>
	“Don’t need it.” The tip of Jaskier’s cock catches on Geralt’s rim and slides through the residual oil there. They both groan.
</p><p>
	“I don’t
	<em>care</em>. I’m getting oil.” Struggling, Jaskier reaches for the vial. Geralt overhears him muttering about
	<em>idiot self-sacrificing witchers</em>, but then he’s spilling the vial into his hand and slicking his cock along with half the bed but Geralt
	<em>does not care</em>
	because Jaskier is finally going to fuck him.
</p><p>
	He tilts his hips and Jaskier darts for a pillow to adjust the angle. Geralt wants to gripe at his fussing but again, Jaskier is about to fuck him.
</p><p>
	Jaskier pushes Geralt’s knees to his chest, and Geralt holds them in place. Soft hands stroke down the backs of his thighs, and Geralt shivers as Jaskier helplessly looks down at him. “I won’t last long.”
</p><p>
	Geralt knows. But he doesn’t care. “We have all night, Jaskier.”
</p><p>
	A feral, determined grin chases the helpless look off Jaskier’s face. “And I would never squander the opportunity to test a witcher’s stamina.” Leaning forward, he crashes his lips into Geralt’s, and Geralt arches up to meet him.
</p><p>
	Jaskier pulls back to position his cock at Geralt’s entrance, teasing and rubbing before finally,
	<em>finally</em>, pressing in.
</p><p>
	“<em>Fuck</em>,” Jaskier breathes, as the tip of his cock presses in.
</p><p>
	It’s good but it’s not enough. Geralt angles down, trying for more, and it slides in another inch.
</p><p>
	“Greedy,” Jaskier whispers, but keeps going, sliding in tortuously slowly until at last, he’s fully seated. Geralt feels so
	<em>full</em>. And it’s still
	<em>not enough</em>.
</p><p>
	Great gusts of breath heave out of Geralt like he’s dying, his cock is plumping against his stomach, and Jaskier isn’t fucking
	<em>moving</em>. With Geralt’s legs in the position they’re in, he can’t get any leverage. But before he can shift, Jaskier grabs the backs of his knees and pushes him into an even deeper stretch.
</p><p>
	“Oh no you don’t, witcher,” Jaskier gasps. “I’m setting the pace.”
</p><p>
	A high pitched noise comes out of Geralt. It might be a whine, but he can’t tell because Jaskier has finally started to move, rocking slowly but picking up speed. Geralt tries to shift, to set the pace, but in response Jaskier darts a hand to Geralt’s hair, wrapping a handful around his fist and
	<em>pulling</em>.
</p><p>“Stay,” Jaskier growls.</p><p>
	Now Geralt
	<em>definitely</em>
	whines. His hands scrabble for purchase, cock leaking onto his stomach. But he stays. Jaskier drives into him, hand fisted in Geralt’s hair while he leans forward to suck and bite at Geralt’s shoulder. The change in position means Jaskier is hitting Geralt’s prostate with every thrust, and Geralt cries out, body drawing tight.
</p><p>
	Jaskier is making desperate little keening noises and he’s losing rhythm fast. His other hand wraps around Geralt’s cock as he says, “Come for me, darling.” Within two strokes Geralt arches off the bed, thick stripes of come painting his chest as Jaskier shakes apart above him. Through the haze of his orgasm, Geralt feels Jaskier’s cock pulse, pumping him full, and the thought of it sends another wave of aftershocks racing through him.
</p><p>
	Hearts racing, they come down from their orgasms with their foreheads pressed together, breathing each other’s air.
</p><p>
	As Jaskier’s breathing returns to normal, he flops onto Geralt’s shoulder with a dramatic, satisfied sigh.
</p><p>
	Geralt snorts and pulls him close, tangling their legs together as he strokes a hand down Jaskier’s back.
</p><p>
	Jaskier makes a pleased noise and snuggles closer. Geralt presses a kiss to his hair. The flower crown has been reduced to crushed petals, with a few blossoms still lingering in Jaskier’s hair. There’s the uncomfortable feeling of come cooling between their bodies. They should clean up, but Geralt doesn’t want to move just yet.
</p><p>Soft words are mumbled into his neck.</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>
	Lips press a soft kiss to his neck before Jaskier shifts back slightly. “Thank you.” He strokes a hand along Geralt’s cheek. “Thank you for letting me share midsummer with you.”
</p><p>
	It was… something he enjoyed more than he expected. Even if they hadn’t landed in bed together. “Thank you for sharing it with me,” he rumbles.
</p><p>A soft smile spreads across Jaskier’s face.</p><p>“Do you have plans for next midsummer?” Geralt asks.</p><p>“No, why?”</p><p>
	Geralt shrugs. “We could spend it together,” he says, as casual as possible. “See what it’s like in other places.”
</p><p>
	Jaskier’s face
	<em>lights up</em>. “Oh dear heart, I’d love to! I’ve heard midsummer is wonderful in Toussaint.”
</p><p>“It sounds hot,” Geralt gripes.</p><p>
	“Well of course it is, it’s Toussaint. Think of the
	<em>wine,</em>
	Geralt.”
</p><p>Geralt does. “...Maybe we could go to Toussaint.”</p><p>
	Jaskier beams and cuddles close again. Lute-calloused fingers trace patterns in his chest hair. It’s surprisingly peaceful.
</p><p>
	“...Geralt,” Jaskier says slowly. “Have you ever been to any
	<em>other</em>
	holiday festivals?”
</p><p>Oh, gods.</p><p>***</p><p>
	Jaskier wakes slowly, sunlight filtering in through the window. He feels warm and deliciously sore. In the middle of a languorous stretch, he freezes as memories of last night come flooding back. His eyes blink open and his face splits into a wide grin. Last night was
	<em>real</em>.
</p><p>At his side, Geralt is smiling softly, watching him.</p><p>
	How truly blessed, to be able to openly ogle such an incredible physique. “Good morning, gorgeous.”
</p><p>
	Geralt rolls his eyes but doesn’t lose his smile. “It’s mid-afternoon.”
</p><p>
	Jaskier laughs. “Mm, no surprise there.” They greeted the first rays of dawn after several more rounds of enthusiastic sex. Sweaty and tangled in the sheets as they were, they still managed to fall asleep curled in each other’s arms. He smiles at the memory.
</p><p>
	Sitting up, Jaskier stretches again. The sheets are covered in flower petals and evidence of the previous night. He scrunches his nose. “Oh gods damn it, I completely forgot, we’re still in quarantine.” Groaning, Jaskier flops back on the bed. “<em>Now</em>
	what are we going to do?”
</p><p>
	Geralt leans in to nibble at Jaskier’s ear and teases, “I can think of a few things.”
</p><p>
	Jaskier grins, then turns to Geralt with an exaggerated look of surprise and delight, “<em>Truth or dare?</em>
	”
</p><p>
	Jaskier shrieks as Geralt tackles him to the bed. “You little shit.” A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest.
</p><p>
	Contorting his body, Jaskier tries in vain to wriggle away, giggling. Geralt’s laughter is the
	<em>best</em>
	sound he’s ever heard. Joy surges through him, and Jaskier lets himself be caught.
</p>
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